Steven thanked the woman and left thinking that he had exactly the same feeling inside him the last time he’d been in a government office. He reflected that he was experiencing the same exasperation that had upset Scott Haldane so much. He found a coffee shop in Morningside Road and ordered a double espresso while he brought out the two notes from his pocket. The monitoring body was called ‘Lakeland TBMG’ — which he guessed stood for TB monitoring group — and was located at an address in Whitehall, London. The school camp was called ‘Pinetops’ and was sited on the shores of Lake Windermere, not far from Bowness-on-Windermere and not that far from where he himself had been brought up. It conjured up images of Swallows and Amazons and children having a good time in glorious scenery.
The TB monitoring group, however, reminded him of stories he’d read in the medical journals recently about tuberculosis making a comeback in the UK after having almost been wiped out in the Sixties. For some years now, it had been thought no longer necessary to test children for the illness or offer them protection against it. This had resulted in a population which was vulnerable to the disease now being brought in by immigrants — a touchy subject in both medical and social terms. On top of this, drug-resistant strains were not uncommon and were proving notoriously difficult to treat.
As he sipped his coffee, Steven wondered if there was any point in his staying longer in Edinburgh. He supposed he could have a word with Trish Lyons’ mother but wasn’t convinced that that would serve any real purpose apart from upsetting the woman. On the other hand if Trish had said anything about her ‘accident’ since her admission to hospital it might help a great deal and this was something he should be able to find out discreetly from the hospital itself.
If Trish had scalded herself deliberately when psychiatric help at an earlier stage might have prevented it, then suicide was still a possibility for Scott Haldane despite all that his wife had said. If, however, the girl could confirm that it had been an accident, the puzzle over Haldane’s death would remain and the possibility of murder, however unlikely, could not be dismissed entirely although there were no forensics to support this and no apparent motive either, only the belief of a grieving widow.
Steven arrived at the Royal Hospital for Sick Children shortly after 3 p.m. and spoke to the registrar involved in treating Trish Lyons, Dr John Fielding.
‘She’s still a very ill young lady,’ said Fielding.
‘The scalding was that bad?’
Fielding appeared to be uncomfortable with the question. He scratched his head in a nervous gesture and said, ‘The scalding was bad but… it’s the healing process that really concerns us…’
‘In what way?’
Another nervous gesture. ‘Well… it’s not really happening.’ The words hung in the air like the calm before a storm. ‘It’s as if there’s some psychological reason for her not improving.’
‘I understand she was suffering from vitiligo,’ said Steven.
Fielding nodded. ‘That’s what’s making us think there’s a psychological factor involved. Apart from the burns, the vitiligo seems to be spreading. She’s developed patches on her legs and feet.’
‘Poor girl, she’s having a nightmare time of it.’
‘Actually… she’s disturbingly calm and detached about it. Worryingly so.’
Steven remembered Trish’s mother apparently having said something similar about her daughter’s state when she found her on the kitchen floor. ‘A long time for shock to persist,’ he said.
‘Quite,’ said Fielding.
‘Has she said anything at all yet?’
‘Not much.’
Steven put his cards on the table and admitted that his real interest was in establishing whether the scalding had been accidental or not.
‘I can help you there,’ said Fielding. ‘She claims it was an accident.’
‘Ah,’ said Steven, pleased and somewhat surprised that his question had been answered. ‘She did speak about it then?’
‘She said she slipped on the kitchen floor and her arm caught the pot handle on the way down.’
‘Well, that clears things up,’ said Steven but he noticed that Fielding’s expression harboured doubts. ‘But you don’t believe her?’ he asked tentatively.
‘I don’t know for certain but I think there’s a possibility she might be saying that to spare her mother’s feelings.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘When her mother asked her about the agony she must have suffered from the boiling water, Trish maintained that it was nothing, she didn’t feel a thing.’
‘Oh,’ said Steven, feeling a bit deflated. ‘I take it she’s been seen by a psychiatrist?’
Fielding nodded. ‘Who didn’t get anywhere with her. She seems locked in a world of her own.’
‘Her mother must be going through hell.’
‘She is,’ agreed Fielding. ‘But there’s an even bigger hurdle on the horizon. If the healing process doesn’t start kicking in soon, Trish is going to lose her arm.’
Steven walked back along the seemingly endless corridors of the Victorian building, noting how out of sync with his feelings the cheerful Disney characters on the walls were. He suspected that generations of anxious parents had felt the same way.
He called Sci-Med to say that he would be returning to London on the following day. He asked Jean Roberts to contact the Whitehall body responsible for ‘green sticker’ monitoring to request that they send Trish Lyons’ notes to Sci-Med.
‘Not spending the weekend with Jenny?’ asked Jean.
‘Maybe next weekend,’ replied Steven, suddenly feeling even worse, although when he started contemplating the hell children could put their parents through, he had to admit his own problems faded to nothing when compared to what Trish Lyons’ mother was going through.
Jean Roberts had the file waiting for him when he entered her office. He had taken the first BA shuttle down from Edinburgh and had dropped his bag off at his apartment before walking over to the Home Office.
‘I hope you appreciate the trouble we had to go through to get these,’ said Jean.
‘Why so?’
Jean shrugged. ‘They really didn’t want to part with them. I had to get Sir John to intervene.’
‘Can’t think why,’ said Steven, looking genuinely puzzled. ‘But thanks as always.’
‘As always, you’re welcome,’ said Jean, tongue in cheek.
The door to John Macmillan’s office opened and he looked out. ‘Thought I heard your voice. Got a moment?’
‘Wild goose chase?’ asked Macmillan when Steven had closed the door.
‘Pretty much,’ agreed Steven. ‘There’s no reason to believe Scott Haldane was murdered. On the other hand there was no real reason for him to commit suicide either. The girl patient, however, says her scalding was an accident so there was no reason for Haldane to go off on a guilt trip… although that’s far from clear too.’
‘Sounds like a foggy night,’ said Macmillan.
‘You could say.’
‘Can I ask why you requested the girl’s medical notes?’
‘Haldane’s wife said that her husband had terrible trouble getting his hands on them and finding anyone to talk to about the case. I suppose I wanted to see what the fuss was about. Why do you ask?’
Steven’s question was designed to highlight the fact that Macmillan did not usually question his investigators’ motives for doing anything.
‘Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not interfering,’ insisted Macmillan with a smile. ‘I just thought you should know that I had considerable difficulty in obtaining them after Jean told me she’d hit the wall with a simple request. It may be nothing but if government departments start getting obstructive when we ask them for things, it usually means… it’s something worth knowing. I just thought I’d tell you.’
‘Thanks,’ said Steven. ‘It’s probably tied up with the green sticker business.’ He told Macmillan about the children’s exposure to TB at the Lake District camp. ‘I suspect they’re a bit sensitive about giving out information. They wouldn’t want the press having a field day over it.’
On impulse, Steven decided to walk back to his apartment and sit by the river for a while to leaf through Trish
